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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23185228">To the Chuppah</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kressel/pseuds/Kressel'>Kressel</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Jewish, Jewish Identity</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 16:33:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,799</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23185228</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kressel/pseuds/Kressel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A Jewish take on <i>Pride and Prejudice</i></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>39</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>To the Chuppah</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It is a truth acknowledged in every kehillah of the Jewish world that a bochur who has spent a few years in post-high school yeshiva must be in search of his bashert.</p><p>However little known the feelings or views of such a young man may be on the matter, this truth is so well fixed in the minds of the local shadchanim that he is considered as the rightful property of each of them.</p><p>Mrs. Faiga Berkowitz was a shadchanit in a uniquely strategic position. Her husband was the rabbi of a small women’s seminary in the neighborhood of Har Nof in Jerusalem, and she had enough girls on her hands to suit any man’s tastes. Her neighbors had never known her to make a successful shidduch, but she assured them all that she had made dozens back in her old stomping ground of Bennet Avenue in Washington Heights. She had been in Israel for five years, and as she told everyone, the seminary needed time to develop a name. She was confident that her turn to shine would soon arrive. It had to. Her reputation was on the line.</p><p>“Elkana,” she said to her husband one day, “I have an appointment with a lovely young man at 7:30. Please be here to vouch for the girls.”</p><p>Rabbi Berkowitz groaned. Not one of his wife’s clientele had ever impressed him. “For the first meeting,” he said, “my presence cannot be so important. Surely my time can be better spent learning Torah.”</p><p>“But, dear, this one is from Yeshiva Mitzuyan.”</p><p>“Yeshiva Mitzuyan? Ahhh, choshuv. Then I will stay. And if he proves he’s worth his salt, I’ll put in a good word for Libby.”</p><p>“You will do no such thing. Libby is not a bit better than the others, and I am sure she is not half as pretty as Shayna, nor half as studious as Miriam, nor half as outgoing as Tzivia. But you are always giving her the preference.”</p><p>“Libby has an original mind and a kind heart. That is a pairing any man can appreciate.”</p><p>“Don’t be silly. A man doesn’t need a woman for intellectual stimulation. He has his men friends for that. But no man can resist a pretty face, so Shayna is the one. Please Hashem, please make me the shaliach!”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Chaim Birnhack arrived promptly at the Berkowitz’ apartment and for the very first time ever, Rabbi Berkowitz was impressed with the young man and agreed with his wife’s choice of match. Chaim Birnhack was pious, learned, and extremely affable, and possibly most important of all, his family could afford to support him for a few years. Shayna, a baalas teshuva, could not expect such support from her own family. She did have a fair amount of savings herself – she had been a model from her infancy until the age of twelve when she developed an interest in Judaism. Much to the chagrin of her parents, she abandoned her career as a result of this interest; the immodesty of modeling was incompatible with her new-found convictions. Her parents, who were counting on her lucrative income, hoped it was just a passing phase, but time proved otherwise. As soon as she finished college, she entered seminary in Jerusalem.</p><p>Chaim was duly impressed with Shayna’s story and agog at her picture. Rabbi Berkowitz’ character reference seemed almost superfluous; Chaim seemed only to seek confirmation that this girl was not too good to be true. He left the apartment with his head in the clouds.</p><p>“Now to tell Shayna!” cried Mrs. Berkowitz, and she hurried downstairs to the apartment the school used as a dormitory.</p><p>“Shayna! I am sure I have found you the perfect boy!”</p><p>The dorm, which had been full of noise a moment before, was suddenly completely silent. Tzivia stopped her telephone conversation mid-sentence, Libby turned off the kitchen radio, and Tzippy stifled a cough.</p><p>Mrs. Berkowitz was only too happy to have an attentive audience. These girls would be her next customers if this shidduch succeeded.</p><p>“He was so taken by your story and my, when he saw your picture! What can I say? Shayna, your name suits you perfectly.”</p><p>“She’s a shayna Yid, through and through,” agreed Libby. “Chazal do tell us that parents have prophecy when they name their children.”</p><p>“It’s true of you, too, Liba Tova,” said Shayna smiling at her best friend and roommate. Then to Mrs. Berkowitz said, “Perhaps we can discuss this privately?”</p><p>“Of course, of course,” replied Mrs. Berkowitz, and with a look at the other girls which plainly said, “I’ve got something good up my sleeve,” Mrs. Berkowitz led Shayna to her own apartment.</p><p>“Gotta go!” Tzivia told her friend on the phone and then she and Tzippy immediately burst into song and dance: "Od Yishoma b'orei Yehuda. . ."</p><p>“Isn’t that a bit premature?” said Miriam. She picked up her books and returned to the quiet of her own room.</p><p>“It really is,” said Libby. “This is one of Mrs. Berkowitz’ guys after all.”</p><p>“Maybe she’s got a good one this time,” said Tzippy.</p><p>“Yeah, Libby. Don’t be such a pessimist,” said Tzivia. “If she marries Shayna off, then the guys will come running, hoping for another ex-model. I could have been a model, too, don’t you think?” and she struck a pose.</p><p>“You’re forgetting about the concept of bashert,” said Miriam, re-opening the door to her room. “Everything happens at a set time and place because Hashem wills it.”</p><p>But of this, Tzivia heard not a word. She seldom listened to anybody for more than half a minute and never paid attention to Miriam at all. She resumed singing and Tzippy followed, and the two fell silent only when Shayna re-entered the dorm.</p><p>“Well?” demanded Tzivia.</p><p>The four girls sat around the small coffee table.</p><p>“His name is Chaim Birnhack. He’s 24. He’s been at Yeshivas Mitzuyan for two years, and he’s originally from England,” Shayna told them.</p><p>“Ohhhhh,” sighed Tzippy. “I love an English accent.”</p><p>“Naah,” said Tzivia. “Give me an Israeli soldier every time.”</p><p>“But since the suggestion was for Shayna,” said Libby, “Does he hope to sit and learn?”</p><p>“Yes, and he’s got a family who’ll support him.”</p><p>“An FFB?”</p><p>“Well, not exactly. His whole family did teshuva when he was a kid. He’s gone to yeshivas most of his life, but his background . . .”</p><p>“Isn’t m’yichusdig enough for some people,” Libby finished for her. “So it’s other people’s prejudice that brings him to Mrs. Berkowitz. Well, at least he’s not a snob himself. And if he’s your bashert, I’ll be thrilled to dance at your wedding!”</p><p>And with that, Tzippy and Tzivia began to sing again, and Libby joined, too, just for the fun of it, and they all circled around Shayna as though she were already a bride.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Chaim rushed into the bais medrash, hoping the mashgiach wouldn’t notice his lateness.</p><p>“Good of you to turn up,” said Daniel, looking up from his Gemara. “Go on. Get it out of your system. Let’s hear the story behind the latest picture you’ve just fallen in love with and then we can learn.”</p><p>“How did you - ”</p><p>“We’ve been through this before. Nu?”</p><p>Chaim was too good-natured to care about Daniel’s ribbing him, and today, he was in so happy a mood that even his worst enemy, had he had any enemies, couldn’t bother him. “She’s perfect! You wouldn’t believe it! Modest, committed to Torah, great with kids, and absolutely beautiful!”</p><p>“Which sem?”</p><p>“Machon Toras Chesed.”</p><p>“I’ve never heard of it.”</p><p>“It’s for baalos teshuva,” said Chaim, bracing himself for the oncoming criticism.</p><p>“Please don’t take this the wrong way.” Daniel began. “I respect your parents very much for all they’ve accomplished. But you’re only technically a baal teshuva. You’ve been frum almost your whole life. You ought to look for someone with a background more like yours rather than settle for -”</p><p>“Who’s settling? I think I’m just about the luckiest bloke on Earth to be able to meet this girl. If I didn’t know you better, I’d tell you off but good for being such a snob, but as it happens I do know you better. If yichus mattered that much to you, you’d be married to Rebbetzin Dubov’s daughter by now.”</p><p>“Enough chat,” said Daniel turning red and looking back into his Gemara. “It’s bittul Torah.”</p><p>“You want to talk Torah? How about: “Lo tov heyos ha adam l’vado.” Really, Daniel. I say this as your friend. It’s not normal to reject every single girl anyone suggests. One of them has got to be the right one. And how are you going to find her if you won’t date?”</p><p>“When the right one comes . . .”</p><p>“I bet you’ll turn her down, too.”</p><p>Daniel looked up from his Gemara again. “All right. I’ll make you a deal. If you’re still starry-eyed about this girl after three dates, I’ll go to the shadchanit who introduced you and see if she’s got anyone for me. Now, let’s learn.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Interest in Shayna’s date with Chaim was running high in the sem. Chayala, an older student who lived in a different dorm, reported that she had once been set up with Chaim Birnhack by one of Mrs. Berkowitz’ competitors.</p><p>“Nice guy,” said Chayala. “I could see him with Shayna.”</p><p>“Anyone could see she’s not Chaim’s type,” said Mrs. Berkowitz derisively when Chayala was out of earshot. “I don’t know what Rebbetzin Lustig was thinking. But then, anybody can put together a “skirt and pants” first date. A first date that becomes a second, now that takes seichel.”</p><p>And whether it was due to Mrs. Berkowitz’ seichel or not, Chaim did ask Shayna on that all-important second date.</p><p>“Pay close attention to where he takes you,” advised Mrs. Berkowitz. “Hotel lobbies are standard first dates, but the second can be a bit more personal. It ought to be a moderately priced coffee shop. Too cheap would mean he thinks you’re not worth it, but too expensive means he’s extravagant. And if he asks you on a third date, you’re as good as engaged.”</p><p>In response to all this, Shayna had become increasingly cautious in her praise of Chaim, but when alone with Libby, she confided how much she really did like him.</p><p>“He is just what a young man ought to be,” said Shayna, “sensible, good-humored, lively.”</p><p>“And you find him good-looking,” replied Libby, “which every young man ought to be, if he possibly can.”</p><p>“I haven’t told Mrs. Berkowitz yet, but he has invited me for the Shabbos seudah by day at his sister’s house.”</p><p>“Meeting the family?” said Libby, “Mrs. Berkowitz will be schlepping you to bridal shops.”</p><p>But though no proposal came after the third date, Chaim brought Mrs. Berkowitz something she could prize almost as much: a new client, his evening chavrusa Daniel Fisher.</p><p>Daniel was in many ways even more promising than Chaim. He was by all accounts a top student and from a wealthy family to boot. He was such a good catch, in fact, that Mrs. Berkowitz devised a plan for her interview with him. It was scheduled for a Thursday night, and she would invite Libby and Chayala to use her better equipped kitchen for their Shabbos preparations. Chayala would see how much she had to lose in consulting other shadchanim and Libby would finally deign to go out with one of her boys.</p><p>Had Libby and Chayala known what they were in for, neither one would have agreed to it. But both loved to cook, and potato kugel is nearly impossible without a food processor, an accessory neither of their dorms possessed. They settled themselves in with peelers and a five-pound bag of potatoes and began to talk, as usual, about Shayna’s prospects.</p><p>“Mrs. Berkowitz has a point,” said Chayala. “Three dates is enough to make a decision. That’s the way the Chassidim do it.”</p><p>Libby disagreed. “That system works for them because by the research is so extensive before the couple even meets. It wouldn’t work for us, though. I like Rebbetzin Gan’s advice: date long and engage short.”</p><p>“I don’t think it’s necessary to date long at all. Chaim Birnhack made up his mind about me after one date, and chances are, he’s made up his mind about Shayna, too. I bet the only thing holding him back is her. We’re supposed to be modest, but in shidduchim, we’re allowed to let go a little, enough to give the guy encouragement anyway.”</p><p>“Shayna’s agreed to go out with the guy three times! That ought to be encouragement enough!”</p><p>Chayala was about to respond when the doorbell rang and Mrs. Berkowitz popped her head into the kitchen.</p><p>“That’s my appointment, girls. Now please be quiet in here!”</p><p>The two girls stared at each other, realizing what they had been forced into.</p><p>“This is outrageous!” whispered Libby when Mrs. Berkowitz left. “No other shadchan in the world would do something as unprofessional as this! And there’s no escape, either! The only way out is right through the living room!”</p><p>But as it turned out, Mrs. Berkowitz’ appointment was amazingly reticent for someone who had come to discuss the most pivotal and intimate decision of his life. All they learned about him was that he was 25 years old and frum from birth, and like Chaim, he originally came from England.</p><p>Mrs. Berkowitz found Daniel’s reserve spectacularly unhelpful. His answer to the question, “What are you looking for?” was so vague, Mrs. Berkowitz was almost at a loss as to who to set him up with. Settling on the principle that a friend of the boy would like a friend of the girl, she began:</p><p>“Let me tell you about Libby. She is a great favorite with my husband, a very bright student.”</p><p>“I’m not listening to this. I’m not listening to this,” said Libby, ducking her head into a cabinet to locate all the parts to Mrs. Berkowitz’ food processor.</p><p>“Maybe you’ll like him,” Chayala whispered back.</p><p>“She comes from an intellectual family in New York,” continued Mrs. Berkowitz. “Her father is a professor of philosophy. She’s got a grounding in it herself, I understand, but at a young age came to the conclusion that Torah is the only truth. She’s very pretty, too.”</p><p>Libby knew that at that moment, Mrs. Berkowitz must have handed Daniel her picture.</p><p>“She’s all right,” said Daniel, “but I’m not interested. I’m sure you and your husband are doing wonderful work at this sem, but a baalas teshuva who’s still using an English name isn’t for me.” And with an indistinct thank you, he left.</p><p>Then Libby, who had been furious a moment before, burst into laughter. “The joke’s on him!” she exclaimed. ‘Libby’ was a nickname for her Yiddish name, Liba.</p><p>“Poor Libby,” said Chayala, “to be only ‘all right.’”</p><p>“I’ve never seen such bad middos!” cried Mrs. Berkowitz, joining them in the kitchen. “Well, at least I’ve done you this much of a service, Libby: every wrong match brings you one step closer to the right one.”</p><p>“Yes, thank you so much,” said Libby, resolving never to accept a “favor” from Mrs. Berkowitz again. “I must have just gotten ten steps closer. That’s one guy I can be sure isn’t my bashsert.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Shayna could not keep her Shabbos date a secret from Mrs. Berkowitz for long. It was arranged that she should sleep at the home of Rabbi and Rebbetzin Gan, a married couple who both taught at the sem, and who lived closer to Chaim’s married sister, Mrs. Horowitz.</p><p>That Friday afternoon, Mrs. Berkowitz entered the dorm, full of advice to Shayna on everything from which of her Shabbos dresses she should wear to good topics of conversation to impress Chaim’s family.</p><p>“It’s pouring,” said Libby, looking out the window. “Funny how it always does on Shabbos Parshas Noach. It’s as if Hashem wants to make sure we get the full feeling of the parsha.”</p><p>“Rain is a siman bracha,” Mrs. Berkowitz said emphatically.</p><p>“For Eretz Yisroel, it certainly is, but for someone forced to walk in the rain on Shabbos when the use of umbrellas is forbidden . . .”</p><p>“You will NOT rain on her parade!” cried Mrs. Berkowitz. “Just because that Daniel Fisher rejected you does not mean that you have to ruin someone else’s chances of happiness!”</p><p>“I am sure that Libby will be happier than anybody for me at my wedding, whoever I marry,” said Shayna. “She’s just concerned that I shouldn’t get sick.”</p><p>“People get sick from germs, not bad weather,” said Mrs. Berkowitz. “Borrow a raincoat from Rebbetzin Gan, and by all means, arrive at the seudah on time. And G-d willing, with all this rain, they’ll insist you stay for longer.”</p><p>And in fact, that is precisely what happened. The rain poured in buckets that Shabbos, a clear bracha for the Land of Israel, but a mixed one for Shayna. After Havdalah, when Mrs. Berkowitz was congratulating herself on a plan well-executed, the telephone call came. Shayna had caught a dreadful cold and fever and would be spending the night at Chaim’s sister’s home instead of returning to the dorm.</p><p>“All your things are at Rebbetzin Gan’s,” said Libby. “Do you want me to pick them up and bring them to you?”</p><p>“I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you,” said Shayna, though Libby heard in her voice how grateful she would be for it.</p><p>“It’s no trouble at all!” said Libby, “I don’t mind the bus ride. You know how I love people-watching in Jerusalem.” That convinced Shayna, and she gave Libby the Horowitz’ address.</p><p>Mrs. Berkowitz, however, completely disapproved. “You’re intruding. Let Shayna get to know the family alone.”</p><p>“If she’s sick in bed,” said Rabbi Berkowitz, “I doubt she’s getting to know them very much at all.”</p><p>“I’ll just be in and out anyway,” said Libby.</p><p>“I don’t see why you’re bothering. Let Rebbetzin Gan do it.”</p><p>“Rebbetzin Gan has four little kids and another one on the way. Really, it’s no big deal.”</p><p>“I admire your zerizus,” said Miriam, “but remember, every good impulse must be checked by reason.”</p><p>“Well, I’ll see you all soon, im yirtzah Hashem,” said Libby.</p><p>She left and caught the bus almost immediately. Slowly it wound its way down the mountain on which the neighborhood of Har Nof was built, but when it neared the center of town, the police stopped it and all other buses. A suspicious object had been found in a kiosk in the Central Bus Station, and there was an investigation under way. Hundreds of people were spilling onto the street all trying to figure out how they would get to wherever they were going. The crowd seemed to Libby a cross-section of Israeli society: Ultra-Orthodox families ushered sleepy children into taxis, secular teenagers with multiple body-piercings milled around aimlessly, and uniformed soldiers and police directed people and traffic. It seemed every other person was talking on a cell phone, mostly in Hebrew or English. But amidst it all, there were no ambulances. No bomb had gone off, and for this, the crowd breathed a collective sigh of relief. Libby overheard more exclamations of “Baruch Hashem” than impatient complaints of “Eze balagan.”</p><p>As for herself, Libby decided to walk the rest of the way to the Gans’. It was no longer Shabbos, so she had the benefit of an umbrella, though she did have to jump over quite a few puddles. She stayed at the Gans’ only long enough to pick up Shayna’s things. It would have been pleasant to visit, but when there was a mitzvah to be done, it was done best with alacrity.</p><p>The Horowitzes lived in the neighborhood of Nachlaot, one of the oldest in Jerusalem. It predated cars, so there were no streets between the houses, but a labyrinth of pathways, giving the neighborhood mystical charm. The diverse population there added to this. There were old Yerushalmim, both Ashkenazim and Sephardim, people who had lived there for generations. The neighborhood also attracted an element of hippie-ish Jews who formed a cohesive kehilla of their own. And lately, it had also become increasingly popular with wealthy Jews who bought large lots of property and renovated. But there was one thing the law would not permit them to change: the exterior of every building was made of tan Jerusalem stone.</p><p>Because of the irregular paths, Libby had some difficulty finding the Horowitz’ home. Not afraid to ask directions, she approached the first woman she saw, an elderly Yerushalmi. Her posture was slightly stooped and her skin rather wrinkled, but her face was so sweet that Libby immediately sensed that she was in the presence of a tzadekes. In imperfect Hebrew tinged with a tell-tale American accent, Libby asked directions. Like a true baalas chesed, the woman offered to walk Lizzy right to the door, repeating the Mymer Chazal that every four ammos one walks in the Holy Land is another mitzvah.</p><p>In their brief walk together, the woman asked Libby about herself, and in the same awkward Hebrew, Libby managed to convey that she was a baalas teshuva learning in Har Nof and that she was bringing clothing to a sick friend. The woman responded with effusive praise which embarrassed Libby, but when she tried to protest, the woman praised her more. When they reached their destination, the woman left Libby with a long and spontaneous series of brachas which included continuing growth in her avodas Hashem and that Hashem should send her bashert to her very soon.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Although Shayna had told her friends that Libby would be coming, Mrs. Horowitz met her at the door in a good deal of surprise.</p><p>“You’re soaked,” she said flatly. “Don’t tell me you walked, too.”</p><p>“I had to. There was a suspicious package in the Central Bus Station.”</p><p>“You walked all the way from the Central Bus Station?” she asked incredulously.</p><p>“Every four ammos is another mitzvah, right?” said Libby.</p><p>“L’maan Hashem, invite her in, Leah,” came a man’s voice from inside. As Libby stepped in, a good-looking young man walked into the foyer.</p><p>“You must be Libby. Shayna has spoken so highly of you, I feel as if I already know you.”</p><p>Libby smiled. “Shayna’s a sweetie. How is she?”</p><p>A look of concern swept over Chaim’s face. “She says it’s nothing serious, but you can’t be too careful with these things. This time last year, half the bais Medrash was out with bronchitis. Remember, Daniel?”</p><p>Libby’s heart skipped a beat when she heard the name. He was probably the same man who had rejected her a few days before. When he responded to his friend with a non-committal, “Oh, yes,” Libby was certain. She would never forget that voice, nor what it said about her. Why did she have to see him face to face? Why did Hashem make their paths cross again?</p><p>“May I see Shayna?” she asked.</p><p>“Of course!” said Chaim, but his sister was less enthusiastic. Libby could see that she was eyeing her wet clothing nervously. She made a show of wiping her feet on the doormat.</p><p>“Last room on the right upstairs,” said Mrs. Horowitz with some reluctance. When Libby had disappeared, she exclaimed, “Who would come out on a night like this?”</p><p>“Someone with no life, apparently,” said her younger sister Chani. “But it’s no wonder, look at how she lets herself be seen! Did you see her hair? Absolutely all over the place!”</p><p>“And the bottom of her skirt, soaked through. If she drips and stains my carpeting, she’s paying for the replacement.”</p><p>“Sha! Lashon hara! What’s the matter with you two? She’s doing a chesed for a friend.”</p><p>“You’re not supposed to do a chesed on someone else’s cheshbon,” said Leah. “If she damages my carpet . . .”</p><p>“If she does, I’ll replace it myself,” said Chaim.</p><p>“Well I think it’s shameful when a woman doesn’t take proper care of her appearance,” said Chani. “And there are two types who do it. Some, nebuch, just don’t know better, but she’s not one of those. She’s one of those super-idealistic baalos teshuva who thinks she doesn’t have to bother. And that’s not the Torah way. You think I’m right, don’t you, Daniel?”</p><p>“Yes,” he said absently. He had noticed Libby’s appearance, but was affected by it very differently. He knew immediately that she was the girl whose picture he had seen, only she was a thousand times more attractive in real life. Her eyes were so bright and lively. And her quip about the daled ammos - that was refreshing. He wondered whether he should call Mrs. Berkowitz with a change of heart, but reasoned that an American girl not raised frum could not be the girl for him.</p><p>When Libby returned downstairs, she had neatened her hair, causing Chaim to give his sister a smug look and Daniel to look at her a little longer than was proper. “This is the yetzer hara,” he told himself, and he walked over to the seforim shelf to find some purer way of occupying his mind. It was with a mix of happiness and dread that he heard Chaim say, “Would you like to stay for melave malka? It might be a while before the buses are running again.”</p><p>Libby, who could not deny the truth of this, felt she had no choice but to accept, though she did not expect to enjoy herself much. She had heard enough from Daniel to last her a lifetime, and she didn’t have a good feeling from Chaim’s sisters either. The only person who had spoken to her with any degree of warmth so far was Chaim, but as Jewish propriety required, she would be expected to converse more with the women than with the men.</p><p>They sat with the men on one side and the women on the other. For the first fifteen minutes or so, Libby had no part in the conversation. Chani had asked Daniel which seminaries his younger sister was thinking of for the next year.</p><p>“My year at B’nos Tiferes Yisroel was the best of my life!” she declared.</p><p>“It might be too big a school for her,” said Daniel. “She’s very shy. If it can be arranged, we are thinking of setting her up in an apartment in Tzfas with a few private tutorials.”</p><p>“Ahhh, Tzfas,” said Libby, almost to herself.</p><p>“Have you been there?” Chaim asked.</p><p>“I spent three weeks there this summer, before entering Machon Toras Chesed.”</p><p>“I suppose you like the artists’ colony there,” said Chani with barely disguised disdain.</p><p>“I do like the artists’ colony,” said Libby, “but it’s not my favorite part of Tzfas.”</p><p>“What is, then?” asked Daniel in spite of himself.</p><p>“It’s hard to say. I love the whole feel of the town. The old shuls, which are artistry in themselves, the view of the surrounding mountains. It’s a makom kadosh, what else can I say?”</p><p>Mr. Horowitz, who had been snoozing in his chair when Libby first arrived, now looked up from his food and said, "Yerushalayim has greater kedushah.”</p><p>“So I am told,” said Libby, “But Tzfas had a profound affect on me. For one thing, I could never sleep in there. I have a bit of a yetzer hara for sleeping in on Shabbos mornings –”</p><p>“You’re not alone there,” said Chaim, winking at Chani.</p><p>“But in Tzfas, I was awake by sunrise every morning, and I never felt a lack of sleep during the day. One morning I saw a grey horse standing in someone’s garden. I know that doesn’t sound like anything spectacular, but I’m from New York, so getting close to nature really excites me.”</p><p>“Whenever I’m in Tzfas, I never want to leave it, and whenever I’m in Yerushalyaim, it’s pretty much the same,” said Chaim.</p><p>“You have the right attitude,” said Libby, and then quoting Pirkei Avos, said, “Who is rich? One who is happy with his lot.”</p><p>As soon as Libby had finished speaking, the doorbell rang. The Yerushalmi woman who had taken her through the neighborhood returned to the Horowitz’ apartment with a ride to Har Nof for her. In her imperfect Hebrew, she thanked the woman, but Mrs. Horowitz, who was far more fluent, took over and got the relevant details. Libby bentsched quickly, thanked her hosts, and left.</p><p>“Very interesting what she said about Tzfas,” said Daniel, who had mostly remained quiet until then. “Rebbe Menachem Mendel of Vitebsk settled in Tzfas for a while, but he did not stay. He said there are souls flitting about in Tzfas, calling to everyone to do teshuva, and he had to leave because they would not let him sleep.”</p><p>Chani affected a sigh and said, “How I’ve always loved Tzfas!”</p>
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